Aftershock
by dawnsfire
Summary: Pain in the Heart. Follow-up to Paradigm Shift. eventually I will learn how to write decent summaries!


_almost forgot--don't own them, never did, and likely never will! sigh_

* * *

_Damn him! Damn him! Damn him!_

Brennan firmly shut her office door, effectively blocking out the sound, if not the sight, of Booth directing the FBI in closing off the platform.

She wanted to slug him again.

She wanted to introduce him to some of the more—interesting—rites and rituals she had stumbled across in her travels. There were a few initiation ones in particular…

She wanted to fall into his arms and weep in relief that he was all right, that she hadn't been abandoned again. That he lived.

Forcing herself to at least the semblance of calm, she sat at her computer and reviewed her notes about the body she had examined before the abortive funeral. She made a correction, saved it automatically, then leaned back in her chair thoughtfully. She believed he had put her name on that list. She was sure he would find out who had changed it if she asked.

But short of the original request not making its way through the proper route, only two people could have suppressed the information, so far as she could tell. Cullen—and Sweets. She considered her alternatives. If it was Cullen, she had little recourse. Sweets, on the other hand… That was a distinct possibility. Was this another of his ideas like the couples' night?

She stilled at the thought. Sweets was an active researcher in his field—even soft sciences had to publish, after all. She knew the two of them drove him insane at times. That he couldn't lock them into preset molds and how the two of them could play him like a piano. Would he have _dared_? Her eyes narrowed. _Yes. He would have_.

And why, why, _why_ couldn't Booth have told her himself? Written a note if he couldn't call? _And who would have dared deliver it?_ her usual rational inner voice jeered. She tapped a pen against her mouth. It was irrational to expect Booth to break protocol so thoroughly. But he had done so in the past, so perhaps not as irrational as it sounded. On the other hand, those times he hadn't been around other agents. But it still stung.

And why was she being so irrational, anyway? She understood rules, protocol. Wasn't she always having to tell people to how to properly treat remains in the field? Or even in the lab? How was this any different? Her thoughts curled in on themselves.

_Because it's people now. Real, living, breathing people. Booth and me. The anonymous victims on my table can't be identified and avenged if protocol isn't followed. But doesn't he always tell me that people are different? They are, _she thought on a slightly grim note. _They can hurt and can be hurt. Skeletons are past that._

--

Her protective wall had started to crack the night Booth got shot. Things might have been all right if he had woken while she was in the room. They would have talked a little once he was cognizant enough, maybe shared a few of these feelings. Enough, anyway, that they would talk again when he was well. Instead, she had been shooed out of the room by a doctor who had firmly told her to go home and rest.

Reluctantly, she had done so, but come back as soon as she could the next day, only to be faced with an empty room and the sorrowful glances of the nurses.

To her intense disgust, she had fainted on the spot.

--

She gritted her teeth at the memory; at least no one she knew had seen her. The nurses had revived her, brought a doctor to explain. His voice had been kindly, somehow managing to avoid being condescending, and she had taken in the meaning, if not the actual words. _Sudden turn for the worse…nothing that could be done…family has been notified…we couldn't reach you, Dr. Brennan. My deepest condolences_. And then he had left, as if knowing that was all she could handle.

She stayed there, in the room, for a while, simply thinking about him and crying. Mercifully, no one had disturbed her. Now, she wondered at that. Basic courtesy, or had someone in the FBI dropped a word? Booth, perhaps?

And when she was done, she had washed her face and smoothed back her hair. The face in the mirror had been paler than normal, but resolute, bearing no signs of the pain in her heart. Without a backwards glance, she had walked out of the room. And of course, driven straight to the Jeffersonian, straight to work. Where things could be controlled. Where strange women couldn't break in with guns and kill people.

The squints had been quiet when she walked in, and she was grateful that she didn't have to tell them anything. She donned a lab coat and asked for the first body from Limbo. With every word, every order and request, she rebuilt her wall. She ignored the pleading look in Angela's face, the confused one on Zack's, and the sympathy from Hodgins and Cam. She refused to even look at Sweets when he came by, spouting off his pseudo-science and probing questions. _This_ was all that mattered now.

She worked longer hours deliberately, pushing herself, so that when she went home, she would be too tired to do anything but fall asleep. No time to think about Booth. So long as she was at work or the gym, she could block that out. As a result, she would sometime wake to find herself still in work clothes or the gym outfit from the day before, sprawled on the couch, and mechanically would rise & shower and change and head back out for another 18 hour day.

But she knew, even then, that her protections were not as strong as she would like, and thus refused to attend the funeral. There was no way she was going to fall apart in public. Nothing had moved her until Angela had begged her. And sure enough, seeing Booth suddenly appear blew the walls wide apart.

Acting on the instinct built over three years of partnership, she had assisted him in apprehending the criminal (what else could the stranger be?), and then, face to face with a "dead man," and still acting on instinct, she had slugged him. Hard.

Rubbing her knuckles in remembrance, a small smile appeared on her lips. It had been immensely satisfying; and storming off like that, Booth following her, was equally so. Irrational, perhaps, but there was no denying the rush. A little like the first time she had taken down a suspect on her own. She still wanted to kick someone!

--

Which brought her back to now. The mandible had been a shock and it jolted her—all of them—out of the haze of Booth's deception and back into the world of Gormagon. She was going to have to ask Zack exactly when he had seen the box on the table. There were no postage markings, no address, just her name on the plain wrapping. They probably should also see if it was brought over by a courier service; she didn't like the implications if not.

But she couldn't help but think back to their fight on the platform. Passion? She had defended herself by defining passion in this case as rage, anger at being deceived. But there was an edge of the passion Booth meant in there. He wanted it to be that way, she could tell, for the same edge was in his eyes.

Well, she wanted it too. She could finally admit that to herself. _But not to him; not yet_. She wasn't quite ready to take that first step over the line, especially not with the deception so fresh. A quick thought, entirely foreign to her, ran through her mind. _This could be fun_. Then, _I need to talk to Angela_. She smiled in anticipation.

--

Outside, the FBI team had finished their examination, she noted, and had festooned the platform in yellow crime scene tape. Her own team was starting to gather, so she shrugged into her lab coat and joined them. Compartmentalizing again.

* * *

I hope I didn't slide too far OOC there at the end. It seems to me that she needs time and enough of Booth and Angela have rubbed off on her that she might enjoy playing him while she adjusts. Of course, that could backfire as we all know!  
I may write that one day, with enough inspiration.


End file.
